Inventive Destruction
by Unimaginative Lot
Summary: Just a fun little one shot. During seventh year, Draco passes the hours devising dangerous magical inventions. One gets away from him during breakfast with the Dark Lord. One shot. Rated T for implied character death.


Inventive Destruction

The depression was so that Draco could hardly stand it. He was at the manor mulling over the past few years of seemingly unavoidable events which had brought them all here. How had it come to this? He'd learned a lot the last few years, most of which had introduced him to cynicism and some of which had introduced him to untapped talents. He had discovered he was particularly good at invention. Inventing spells and magical items had become his depressing pass time.

The orb he presently suspended above his face, as he slouch lethargically on the french love seat in the library, was curious in nature. He wasn't even sure of everything it was capable of. Transparent and beautiful, like a lavender bubble, it was quite untouchable. Learning that the properties of magical inventions depended on the inventor's state of mind, this little bubble of power would probably be fatal to the touch, if not hideously disagreeable. In an indulgent fit of indifference he began bouncing the orb around in a festive fashion, forcing it through ridiculous dips and twirls.

Suddenly he was startled by the library door which swung open. He dropped the orb and watched, horrified, as it bounced, dipped, and twirled out of his control, through the open door.

"I's sorry Master!" squeaked the cleaning elf who had caused him to let an untamed danger loose on the house.

"Get out of the way!" he sobbed as he ran past the elf without so much as a punishment for lack of time. He ran through the massive house trying fruitlessly to locate the cursed orb, no bigger than a gumball. He searched in dark corners, under sofas, around grandfather clocks, and still no sign of it. He was getting desperate. He came to a screeching halt on the threshold of the breakfast parlor where, to his utter horror his entire family, with a bonus Dark Lord, was gathered.

"Ah, Draco. Come and join us," his delicate but firm mother ordered.

He tried his best to compose himself as he sat with the stony lot. He allowed himself a few seconds of comforting fantasy, starring a wedged orb, before those were dashed with a terrifyingly familiar lavender sparkle. What stopped his heart mid beat was the fact that the sparkle was coming from the pot of porridge levitating towards them. Sweat was visibly dripping down his face as he watched the porridge serve itself off to each member. He prayed the orb would end up in his own bowl. His dilated eyes scanned the faces of his overbearing father, his sweet mother, and his downright scary godfather, Severus, wondering which would be the unlucky victim of his misunderstood stupidity. He could imagine a tragic scene in which his mother, dying in his arms, cried her last… or a more morbid scene in which his father croaked, sending his uncle Severus into a vengeful fit of rage. He gulped. He would not defend himself. He deserved any punishment Severus would think proper. The seconds passed and Draco could only watch, mouth dry, as they all trustingly accepted their serving of breakfast. What he saw next literally made him choke.

Not even sensing malevolent magic, the Dark Lord took up the bowl with his dangerous progeny. Everyone looked up in surprise at Draco's desperate coughs.

Draco worried his fist with his teeth, nervously observing Snape's disapproving stare, then glancing around at the other concerned faces. This was insupportable, he had to do something! Just as he was about to stand and wordlessly summon the Dark Lord's breakfast, the despot in question took a hearty spoonful…

 _ **-BOOOOOOM-**_

White hot nothingness burst across Draco's vision. He was distantly caught by how loud the explosion had been. The ringing in his ears had deafened him, yet he could still hear it several moments later. He opened his eyes to an ashen white breakfast parlor, gutted by the force of his destructive invention. His parents had luckily blown out into the hall, and were presently recovering. Uncle Severus had been thrown against the wall and was blessedly unconscious. Draco silently was glad. He would have to face his wrath soon enough. The Dark Lord was nowhere to be seen.

Draco stood shakily and gave his chest a few sound punches to expel the white soot which now dominated the indoor panorama. He looked round, noticing a fine film of odd ash - the white soot. He rubbed some of it between his fingers, analyzing it. It was then that he realized, with growing horror, it was _him_. The Dark Lord! This was the magical ash which resulted from his magically perverted body. Squealing like a house elf, Draco hastily rubbed his hand on his trousers and danced away towards the hall where his mother and father stood.

"Draco…" his father placed a surprisingly supportive hand on his shoulder, apparently glad Draco hadn't been hurt. Draco couldn't help but wonder if he would receive such a warm gesture once his father was made aware of the fact that there was no more Dark Lord. He gulped.

Thanks for reading...


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